


Red Lights, Green Lights, Strawberry Wine

by Savageandwise



Category: Music RPF, Real Person Fiction, The Beatles (Band)
Genre: 1975, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, M/M, McLennon, Open Relationship, Smut, Threesome, Work of fiction, if this offends you. Don't read., not my personal opinion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-08
Updated: 2019-02-08
Packaged: 2019-10-24 16:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17707412
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Savageandwise/pseuds/Savageandwise
Summary: While in New Orleans recordingVenus and MarsPaul, Linda and Denny let off a little steam. The tangled state of their relationships with each other — and Paul's with John — become glaringly obvious.This fic isn't supposed to be historically accurate.





	Red Lights, Green Lights, Strawberry Wine

**Author's Note:**

> Do not. I repeat. Do not. Read this if you find Linda/Denny or Denny/Paul at all offensive. Do not read. Do not. Okay? I warned you.  
> Also don't read this is you don't like mclennon.  
> Don't read this if you don't want explicit sex.  
> Don't read this if you don't like mclennon and think Paul needs to get over John.  
> Don't read this if you're just going to be a jerk in comments.
> 
> Thanks

She's sitting on Paul's lap when it happens. In the middle of a discussion about the bridge in the new song, Denny hesitates, leans over and kisses Paul full on the mouth. It's obviously not the first time he's done this. Paul draws the kiss out, giving as good as he's getting, his hands tangle in Linda's hair, pulling her head against his chest possessively. She can't believe this is happening, it's the stuff of fantasy. Denny reaches out, brushes her breast absently and her nipples go hard as pebbles. She wants to put her mouth on his groin through the denim of his jeans. There's a pause as Denny draws back to look at Paul as if seeking approval. He cups her breast deliberately. Linda turns her head, licks Paul's neck. Say yes, she wills her husband. Paul grabs Denny's chin to kiss him again, pushing them closer together in the process. That's a yes for sure.

Paul's strange about sharing sometimes. The rules are to be transparent about any extramarital fantasies. But Paul doesn't tell her he dreams of John Lennon. So she doesn't tell him she imagines Denny thrusting between her legs. And now it's going to happen with her husband's consent. Perfect. 

As if to make it even clearer, Paul takes her hand and rubs it against Denny's swollen prick. She can feel Paul's own erection, hard against her ass. She's so wet, her knickers are slick with it. She squirms in Paul's lap as she opens Denny's trousers and pushes them down his hips. Paul pushes up her skirt with one hand, fingers sliding under her knickers. He sucks in his breath when he feels how aroused she is. Linda leans down and puts her mouth on Denny's prick. She can hear Paul and Denny kissing over her head, the sound of it driving her mad with desire.

All at once Paul is pulling her away and lifting her into his arms, depositing her on their bed. He pulls her dress over her head, slides her sopping knickers off.

“Come on, come here,” he says to Denny, motioning for him to join them. His voice is thick with lust. She's never loved him more than in this moment.

Paul's mouth is on her nipple sucking it hard. His hand is on Denny's prick, stroking it expertly. They've done this before. Without her. Linda feels her cunt twitch. She's too fucking horny to care. She pushes Paul's hand away and rolls on top of Denny.

“Yeah,” Paul murmurs. He's on his side, prick in hand, thrusting into his fist.

Shuddering, Linda lowers herself onto Denny. She starts to move, her eyes on her husband's face. You've had him, she thinks, and now I have too. When the phone rings Paul is on his knees, rubbing his prick against Denny's lips as he thrusts, she can see the pink of his tongue as he licks the tip of Paul's dick. She wants to see him spill all over Denny's face. She thinks she might come from that image alone.

Paul rolls out of bed abruptly, flustered and tousled, prick standing angrily to attention.

“Let it ring, babe,” Linda implores him.

She knows he won't. His voice is still grainy with desire when he answers the phone. After a second he puts it down. His face is stony, his eyes empty. Linda reaches out to him from where she's sitting atop Denny.

"It'll be him next time. You'll see," she assures him.

“It's fine. I'm alright,” Paul says. He snaps up his trousers and leaves the room, slamming the door behind him.

Linda gets up and rifles through her purse till she finds a joint, leaving Denny on his back in the bed staring up at the ceiling fan.

“Should we go after him?” Denny asks after a moment.

She shrugs. “If you want him to bite your head off, go ahead.” 

She lights the joint and takes a drag. “He's always an asshole when it comes to John.”

A light of comprehension flickers in Denny's eyes. “Oh, John. His John…”

Linda gets back into bed beside Denny and hands him the joint. “His John, exactly. The great love of his life.” 

She rolls her eyes, blinking back tears of anger. It's not the betrayal, it's the dishonesty that gets her. Paul's inability to be honest with himself.

“You think so?” Denny asks.

“Honey, I know so. Half the songs he writes are about John. Call me back...whose phone call is he waiting for? Huh?”

She wants to ask Denny how long he's been fucking her husband but it feels too good to talk about this.

“Yeah,” Denny says. He's probably known all along anyway. “I asked him about that line in “No Words” once. He didn't answer straight away. Maybe a week later he tells me this story out of the blue about when he'd argue with John. How John would pull down his glasses and say ‘it's only me.’”

Linda knows the story. She even saw it happen once during the Beatle days. She's sick to fuck of it. _I wish you'd see, it's only me, I love you._

“The balls on that man,” Denny laughs. “slipping that message in on my song.”

Linda laughs along drily. “He thinks he’s James Bloody Bond. Thinks he's hiding it but he's such a bad liar.” 

“And you're good at hiding things,” Denny says, running a finger down the line of her hip.

She gives him a cool look and sticks the joint in her mouth. “What do you mean by that?”

He shrugs. There's a look on his face like a little boy who's just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. Paul has that same expression on his face when he talks about John.

Linda puts the joint in the ashtray on the nightstand, brushing her breasts against Denny's arm deliberately. When she leans back against the pillows she can see he's hard again. He parts her legs slightly with one hand, sliding a finger against her clit. She shivers. Without Paul here this action has an illicit aftertaste. Linda mashes his hand against her cunt decisively.

“Come on,” she urges him.

“I mean I touched you earlier, in the studio and I thought...Nevermind…” he stutters.

“No,” Linda says. “What?”

He strokes her till she's breathing rapidly, till her desire hits that feverish peak and she's really pushing herself into his hand. He slips a couple of fingers into her and she moans, presses her mouth against his as she comes. Spasm after spasm of pleasure hitting her like earthquake shockwaves.

“Tell me…” she says when she catches her breath.

“It felt like you wanted me.”

She did. She does. She's wanted to put his hands all over her body. She's wanted him to fuck her up against the studio console. She's thought about it on stage, listening to Paul call out to John.

“I do,” Linda tells him.

He climbs on top of her, pushing her hair out of her face. “I wanted you too,” he says, rubbing his slick prick against her hungry cunt. 

And it's wrong, all wrong, it's against all the rules. She lifts her legs to wrap them around him and he pushes into her, so slowly she can barely stand it.

“Is this alright?” he asks. 

He asks her so sweetly, like the perfect gentleman. Like he gives a shit. Like he hasn't been doing Paul on the side all along. Paul, who's probably calling New York again. Paul, who murmurs John's name in his sleep. But it's not just about that. Denny sees her. He makes her laugh. He makes her feel like more than just Mrs. McCartney. As much as she loves her husband it's nice to be just Linda again.

“Fuck me hard,” she says.

**Author's Note:**

> I've been thinking about this story for a very, very long time. I'm not sure if it's just me but I always seemed to think Denny and Linda had a vibe. This doesn't at all mean I think anything really happened. Just playing.
> 
> Thanks to all the people who have humoured me in regards to this ficlet. Twinka, Whereitwillgo and ages and ages ago, Tani. ♡


End file.
